The SNAFU Job
by Valawenel
Summary: Short story written as a gift (on prompt), in LeverageExchange on LiveJournal. Episode tag to The Rundown Job, so spoilers. Takes place a few days after The Arch-nemesis Job. No.6 in the 'Texas Mountain Laurel' series.


The SNAFU Job

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The funny thing was, he liked Washington. A lot. But not any more.

Even Batman needed at least a few days to save a city or a world, and they did it in one afternoon, yet Hardison somehow skipped the gloating. He couldn't even feel a simple satisfaction with a job done. Too many very stressful moments in so short a time – his nerves were still trembling.

He fidgeted with a phone, staring somewhere besides the only window of a small apartment, trying a few casual and calm approaches before he called Nate. Eliot was resolved – no panicky messages about him being shot. The last thing the hitter needed was Nate and Sophie catching the first flight to Washington, Nate probably being dragged, but flying nevertheless.

Eliot and Parker were only three meters away. He calmed his hand on the phone. They were too perceptive sometimes.

He didn't feel like superhero, he dreaded every single moment of this day. He could say it started with thirty seconds of panic when he had to think of how to divert a sniper. Eliot and Parker had just left to do their part, not even thinking that he might not be able to think of something, and no matter how flattering that really was, it was frightening at the same time. After that, arrest came as relaxing intermezzo.

He sighed, exhaling the tension that still coiled inside him.

After the arrest and Vance, everything went down – discovery of the flue, and realization what was at stake, fucking Claymore mine, hundreds of dead pigs, a corpse… he didn't stumble upon dead people on regular basis, thank you very much. And fear. Lots of fear.

Now when he was thinking about it, he realized that he hadn't been as scared when Parker was on the train, or maybe he was too occupied with two of them being chased, trying to get to her on time. He simply didn't have time to picture what she had to do on the speeding train to stop it and get in. Yet, the rest of the train episode was cut deeply into his memory with every single detail. And feeling.

He glanced at Eliot and Parker, the hitter in the chair, and Parker sitting on the armrest, entering his personal space and trying to make him go to bed. Completely usual mixture of grinning and growling, annoyance and poking – both of them behaving like it was any other day in the office, like they didn't all almost die just a few hours ago.

He couldn't. All of it was too fresh in his mind. Parker cornered just one meter from the gun pointed at her, the two of them too far away, panic that held him when crazy old man waved the gun, shock when he saw blossoming purple where a bullet went through Eliot, red numbers ticking furiously fast, blinking countdown for all of Washington…

He cleared his throat. They both looked at him as if he was trying to say something and not just get rid of lump in it. "I'm thinking what to tell Nate," he said lightly.

"Tell him we'll stay two more days to visit National Museum of Natural History," Parker offered with a spark in her eye. "To say hi to the Hope diamond and Hall necklace, and Dom Pedro aquamarine-"

"We _don't_ want them here, Parker," Eliot said frowning at her.

"No, _you_ don't want them here. I don't mind if they come. Maybe Sophie would be more efficient in pouring some sense in you."

"Chair is comfortable."

"So is the bed."

"Nope."

Hardison muted their voices, just looking at them, still holding the phone, but not quite thinking what to say to Nate anymore. This day had been disturbingly close to utter disaster. He could've lost them both.

He got up and went to the window that overlooked a quiet back street with two parks. The small hotel was a safe place, though Parker had to snatch one long coat to hide Eliot's bandages when they checked in. He still wasn't sure that skipping the hospital was such a clever idea, but Eliot stated that he _knew_, precisely, that this one went just through his shoulder, not damaging the lungs, and then grinned at him, challenging him to say something about it.

As if that version was completely benign. Right, _my ass_, two holes in the body demanded a hospital and not just a silent, grim man who came after Eliot made a phone call – being in a Washington that buzzed with news of his return had some advantages. The man chased them away and they spent one hour shopping. They traveled light and they needed new clothes, and Eliot needed a full set of everything.

The man just nodded and left when they returned, without any word. But Eliot looked much better. New, properly applied bandages, not over the clothes, for crying out loud, and the bleeding had stopped.

"If you're so eager to put me to sleep, you should know I can sleep on the plane, too. Just sayin'."

Hardison turned around when Eliot's words stirred him from thinking, and he glared at the two. "No way, man, we're staying here. Either this, or a hospital."

"Idiots," the hitter sighed as he closed his eyes and rested his head on the chair.

He didn't look well, and this quick acceptance, without growling and arguing showed much more than his posture. Hardison studied his face, pale and tired, with lines of suppressed pain, and wondered how the hitter really felt after this afternoon, how he was dealing with all that shit that troubled him. Probably as if nothing special happened, he answered himself immediately. Yet, his grim mood wasn't improved with getting shot twice, that was sure. They were joking this morning about things that could've made him smile, he remembered, and though that memory felt like years before, he knew the reason for the hitter's bad mood. He joined them in Washington from Boston, not Portland. Obviously, those four days he spent there were too short. He grinned.

"If you want, we can fly to Boston," Hardison said innocently, just to test his theory, watching him. "So you can recover there in more pleasant surroundings… in gentler hands than ours."

A quick, broad smile flew over Eliot's face before he opened his eyes to frown at him.

"Portland, Hardison." A gruff reply, somehow softened by the smile that preceded.

"Riiight…" he said, "But I wasn't talking about small weird blondes in Boston. I was talking about visiting Betsy. The real nurse, instead of a mute butcher, might come handy."

"What?! No way," and the softness was gone, just as he thought it would. Hardison grinned directly into his mad glare, letting him know, exactly, that he noticed his smile, and turned his back on him again, pressing a button on his phone.

"Yo, Nate, what's up man?"

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"You're on the plane already?" Nate sighed, trying not to show how he hated that 'what's up' expression. He poured a coffee and glanced sideways to the tables where Sophie held her class in frozen concentration over something.

She avoided his eyes.

He sighed again and concentrated on Hardison's words.

"-and if you don't need us right away, we thought we could - should - let Parker have a little fun. You know, sightseeing, but supervised, don't worry. Responsibility as it's best. In fact, funny thing is, she's not even too eager to stay, but we thought it would be-"

Sophie's soft voice, distant and gentle, cut off the hacker's explanation. This time Nate didn't try to catch her eyes. She would think of it as a distraction, and it would only add more fuel to the-

"- we are certainly not trying to avoid any work, you should know that. You do know that, right?" Hardison didn't wait for answer. "There's plenty of time before you meet the next client, and we are not needed there. We wrapped up everything that needed wrapping, diamonds are on their way, and we're gonna enjoy a day or two, that's all."

_We_ wrapped up everything? Nate blinked, noticing that _we _being dominant in hacker's speech, usually full of me myself and I, and he felt his tail switching and ears going up. Hardison was bringing the group ahead and putting individuals in the background. Just great. Collective guilt.

"Is that so?" he asked lightly.

He could _feel_ Hardison's eyes widening in quick thinking.

"What do you mean?" A slight note of caution was evident in the casual remark.

"What's going on, Hardison?" he asked, letting the briefing tone of voice creep into his words.

"What? Nothing is going on! We booked an apartment and we're just preparing to go out, Eliot knows good restaurants. They're practically out the door already, I gotta go now, they're calling me. Call if anything happens, okay?"

The line went dead before he could say anything to keep him on, and Nate suppressed a curse, putting the phone in his pocket.

This didn't sound as if they were in trouble, but surely it sounded as if they were up to something. He dearly hoped they weren't planning a heist on the National Museum of Natural History.

He kept his eyes on the coffee, not watching the tables. He could still hear Sophie's voice softly explaining some difficult expressions, and he remembered the same softness from the last evening, when they got home after yesterday's mess with Sterling and _Ma Mystere._

He remembered even better how quickly that softness disappeared – and he still couldn't figure out what, exactly, he did, said or thought wrong. He could, with painful clarity, recall everything that went wrong after that, when the fight exploded, when fire burned into the white heat and then went into ice cold, frozen silence.

Yep, he sighed; they better be not in trouble.

Because if they were, the rest of the Leverage Consulting & Associates would travel in separate planes.

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"That went smooth," Hardison said, staring at his phone. Eliot had his head bowed and one hand over his eyes. Parker was biting her lip and looking at him with a bland stare. "What? He might, mark my words, _might_ sense something, but there's no way to prove anything. We're cool."

"Indeed," Eliot said wearily.

"And now, time for resting," he put the phone in his pocket and motioned Parker to move. "We all need it, so don't argue. If you need anything, call, okay?"

Parker put two bags beside the chair and emptied them on the small table, within Eliot's reach. "This one – clothes. This one – stuff."

The hitter glanced at the things she brought and frowned again. "Parker, we'll stay here just tomorrow, I don't need – I surely won't use the hotel's spa – what's this?"

Hardison took a few small steps closer to the bathroom that divided their two rooms.

"Avocado oil and shea butter hair conditioner, Garnier," Hardison sang. "We thought you would be glad-" He ducked as fast as he could. He was prepared but still the bottle went dangerously close to his head. "Nah, shame on you," he grinned. "If you wanted that scent to fill the room, what I understand completely, you could just empty it on the table, you didn't have to – okay, okay, we're going."

He pushed Parker in front of himself, checking once more the level of annoyance in hitter's eyes – surprisingly, not so much.

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"It's not evening yet. I don't need to rest," Parker said when she joined him, still pink from the shower and with wet hair. Her black clothes were ruined, they had to buy a new set. She wore his shirt as a robe.

"I have to." And he _did_ need the rest, he was dead tired. "Besides, he might leave the chair now when we're not around, and go to bed. That was the point of this apartment, right?"

"Right," she sighed and plunged onto the bed. He moved over to make room, but she stayed on the lower half, resting her chin on her fists.

"What?" he asked gently.

"Lies ruin everything," she murmured barely audible.

He froze. Sooner or later, she would find out why they moved to Portland, and she would know he lied – kept it for himself – and for the moment he feared that she sensed something about it.

"We should've told them why we're staying, and simply told them not to come." He started to breathe again when she continued.

"Maybe. But there's no harm in this, and it might be useful. One or two days of rest, and he'll be able to travel. That's all. Now, get over here." He tapped the bed beside himself.

The thief rolled over and landed in his arms. He pulled her closer, squeezing her tighter than he wanted, but much less than he needed. He managed to keep his kiss light, not to show her how fear was ebbing too slowly, still present as a shadow behind his shoulder.

"You won't lose me, ever," she whispered. She knew he was thinking about that moment in front of the train, when panic left him breathless, shaken, when a simple embrace meant the world, meant she was alive, meant he won't lose her.

"Of course I won't," he said lightly. "And if I did, I would track you, and find you, and bring you back – there's no escaping from this, mama."

She chuckled and snuggled closer; they both knew he avoided that moment in the darkness, but he wasn't ready to speak about it. Not now.

Her hair was wet and it soaked his collar, but he didn't care; he just kept holding her, allowing her warmth to clear all shadows from his mind, just enjoying the moment. He didn't need anything else now.

And he knew she needed it too.

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Parker sneaked one hour later to check on Eliot. She was the only one who could enter the room without him noticing it.

When he heard her pissed off hiss, Hardison quickly jumped from the bed.

The damn idiot was still in the chair, with his leg stretched out on a small table. He was _texting_.

"I'm resting. Go away."

"Of all stupid things-"

"It's the same. I'll sleep later. I'm fine."

Hardison didn't have to guess whom he was texting – instead of growling, Parker got only a normal, soft explanation. Any other time he would enjoy immensely seeing Eliot Spencer texting like a teenager, with soft light in his eyes and that hidden smile, but not now, not when he needed – _wait a minute_. Hardison erased his own smile and looked better.

Nope, that wasn't a soft light – his eyes were glazed. He bit back the curse and came closer, noticing sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"What?" the hitter's eyes were blurred when he looked at him.

"We should go to hospital, Eliot, you have a fever."

"That's good. Fever is just the body's reaction to trauma, defensive mechanisms are doing what they ought to do. Nothing to worry about, it was expected. It'll pass tomorrow."

"You're _sitting_." Parker's voice was deadly even.

"I'm amazed with your perceptiveness. Now go away." Eliot lowered his head and sent the message.

"What would Betsy do? You would be in that bed faster than you could say 'Yes Ma'am'!"

"I'm comfortable, Parker. Leave me alone."

It wasn't just a matter of comfort, Hardison realized glancing across the room. The chair was positioned three meters from the door, turned slightly so he could cover both door and the window – in case of an attack, he would spring from the chair and be at the door before knob turned; the thing he couldn't do from the bed. People knew he was in Washington, dangerous people. A search for them could easily, and very quickly, lead them to this hotel.

He learned a long time ago to calculate danger according to Eliot's behavior, and though the hitter obviously was very cautious and prepared, they weren't in imminent danger. If he thought they might be attacked, he would never have agreed to stay. This was just a precaution, not paranoia.

But Parker didn't catch any of that – she stood in front of the chair with her fists on her hips.

"You have to lay down," she continued.

"No, I don't," Eliot started to lose his patience rapidly, and Hardison took another chair so he could see them both. He would usually avoid getting caught into exchange of glances as nasty as these were – they glared with the same strength – but now he flinched, remembering their exchange on the train, remembering the panic that froze him when he realized what they were preparing to do. And the realization that there was no way he could stop them was the worst of all.

"We can eat now, and then continue with resting," he jumped in, trying to calm the situation down, but they didn't react, as if he didn't say anything. Honestly, there wasn't anything that Parker could do to make Eliot change his mind. She was already too pissed off to try puppy eyes and Eliot wasn't playing with a full deck either – in pain, with fever and tired, his patience at extremely low levels.

"You asked for it," Parker said, pulling out her phone.

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"Yes dear?" Sophie waved to the last of her students, collecting her notes from the table. "Are you on the plane yet?"

"Nope – Nate didn't tell you? We're staying two more days here, two of them want to show me Washington."

"Ah, I see." Sophie glanced to Nate who was sitting at the bar, talking with the waiter, with his back turned to her. She hesitated a second. "No, we didn't talk, he is not here…I just finished with my class. Have fun."

"How do you make a man do what you want when he is against it?" When Parker blurted her question, Sophie stopped her hand on the papers. The thief sounded aggravated.

"Why is he against it?" she carefully asked. "If Hardison is stopping you from doing something that he thinks is not…clever… maybe you should listen to his reasons before you decide what to do."

"It's Eliot. He, he…" Parker stopped. "We had a quarrel about restaurants. Food. That stuff. And he won't listen."

Sophie rubbed her forehead. "What kind of quarrel, Parker? Argument, fight, usual snarling, what?"

"Irrelevant. He won't agree to do something clever, and Hardison is one my side. What do you do to make him do what you want?"

"I don't."

"What does Nate do?"

"I don't know. Listen, Parker-"

"Give me Nate."

"No, I can't…" she hesitated. "He is busy. Listen, darling, if you can't agree about food or restaurants – and you never can – maybe you should find something else, the third option." Sudden suspicion hit her unprepared. They were always fighting about food, but Parker never before asked for advice about that particular subject. This fight was either very nasty… or it wasn't about food at all. "This _is_ about food? You're not doing something else, fighting over something else?"

"Of course not," Parker's chuckle sounded one octave higher than usual, and Sophie sighed. Dear God, what they were up to?

"When did you say you'll return?" she asked softly.

"Two days. Why can't you give me Nate, where is he?"

"Around… doing things. You don't need him, just simply stop fighting and decide something that will make all of you happy, okay?

"Okay," Parker mumbled and cut the line.

Sophie stared at the phone, wondering what, exactly, did she just tell her to do.

Sightseeing, the three of them, like normal people? Right.

She had a very, very bad feeling about this. She looked at Nate's back. She should tell him, but they obviously called him first and told him about their delay, so he knew. If there was something suspicious, he would notice it.

She didn't _want_ to talk to him.

She put the papers into her bag and went home without turning back.

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Parker stared at the phone while the two of them patiently waited for the verdict.

"So?" Eliot was the first to lose the patience. "Knock it off, Parker, no grifting will move me from here – when I said I would stay here, I meant it."

"You talked to Nate, Hardison," Parker ran over his words, looking at him. "How did he sound?"

"Why?" he exchanged glances with Eliot. "Pretty silent, a little suspicious, and like I caught him in thinking…. what means, usual Nate."

"Sophie sounded strange," Parker murmured, turning the phone in her hand, frowning. "Like leave-me-alone strange. And her smile was fake, the one she uses when she doesn't want to smile."

"Maybe she had-"

"I asked her twice about Nate, and she hesitated a second both times, and said she can't call him. The first time she said he was not there, and the second time that she couldn't call him because he was busy with doing things. And that _doing things_ sounded as if she made it up, quickly."

"And your point is?" Eliot growled.

"Something's happening in Portland. Something's wrong."

They both looked at her. She sounded serious, not pissed off. Hardison tried to remember how Nate really sounded, but he had concentrated more on the things he was telling him, he didn't pay full attention to the mastermind's voice and words, except to search for suspicion.

Eliot was silently looking at Parker, all annoyance cleared from his face, and watchfulness returned into his eyes.

Silence spread for some time while they were thinking, and Hardison could swear that the ticking from their heads was almost audible.

"They would tell us if they were in trouble, or if something bad happened," he said quietly.

"Yep, just as we told them about him," Parker pointed at Eliot. This time, her eyes were unhappy. Hardison suppressed a smile – if she now tried to move him to the bed, it would take less than a minute… but the bed was forgotten for now.

He stood up and went into their room, returning with a laptop bag. When he opened it, he knew it was a sign that trouble was now official.

"They don't know anything about you being shot," he said waiting for system to boot up. "If they knew, it might be a reason for not telling us about trouble. But there's no logic in keeping that from us. Why? Not to ruin our two days vacation? Doesn't make any sense."

"Nate _is_ keeping something from us since we came in Portland, don't tell me you didn't notice that," said Elliot. Hardison kept himself busy staring into the still blank screen, not meeting his eyes. "I would usually think that they simply fought over something, but I'm not so sure now," the hitter continued. "We should go back."

"You're not going anywhere. You can't. Not until we're sure that Parker is not imagining things."

"Ha!" she hissed. "I'm not the paranoid one here – I just know Sophie, and I know how she sounds when she's upset and worried."

"But you were upset and worried, too," he tried, but shut his mouth when she glared at him. "Okay, okay, I trust you – something _is_ wrong."

"They finished their part with Castelman and diamonds without problem, and before we did our part," said Eliot. "They wouldn't hide it if that's connected with the job. Something else is going on."

"There isn't much I can see from here," Hardison said. "I have nothing to work with, except to start searching for random enemies that could-"

"Well, there is one way to do research without that damn typing," Eliot pulled out his phone.

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Nate was just replacing his coffee with a Jack when his phone rang. He checked the display. Eliot. The three of them pulled off the entire Castelman case without one single call, Hardison called only this morning to tell him, in two sentences, that it was finished, and now they were calling every ten minutes? If he didn't already think that something was happening in Washington, now he would start to worry.

"What are you doing?" The gruff voice made him smile, though he wasn't feeling like smiling.

"Good evening to you, too, Eliot," he said softly. "How can I help you?"

"With answering my question, for starters. What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting at the bar, my right hand holds the phone, I'm looking at Mike who is eyeing me very suspiciously, my left hand-"

Low growl stopped him. "What's going on in Portland, Nate? Where's Sophie? Are you in trouble, and if you are, what kind of trouble?"

This was going from bad to worse, he sighed. They were projecting. He wondered if they knew how much they revealed about their doings with simply stating their suspicions about his.

"Nothing is going on, Eliot, and there's no trouble _here_."

"You can talk freely?"

"If I can't, if I'm held on the aim of the gun, how do you think I would tell it to you? No, I _can't_ talk freely? That question is absurd."

"Why are you snapping?"

"I'm not snapping," Yes, he _was_ snapping. He rubbed the back of his neck, hiding the sigh. "I'm just not in the mood to answer your paranoid questions."

"Why?"

"Stop it."

"Where's Sophie?"

"Not here. If you want to talk to her, call her. In fact, I strongly suggest you do that. Now.

"Why?"

Now, he _sighed_.

"Because nothing is going on. Maybe you'll believe her."

"Define nothing."

"Goodbye Eliot."

He really missed old telephones that could be slammed; simple pressing the button to end the conversation wasn't enough.

Only after he put the phone on the table did he became aware of the strange silence around Eliot; not a word, not a sound. They weren't in the restaurant, nor on the way to one. At least he wasn't.

What the hell was happening in Washington?

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"He is definitely hiding something," Parker said quietly after Eliot put down the phone. Hardison had to agree with her. Eliot stared somewhere between two of them, tapping his other hand on the armrest.

Hardison pulled up the Dulles airport in one window, and Baltimore in the other.

"If they needed us, they would say that," he warned them both.

"They are… sometimes… reckless when it comes to danger," Eliot stated cautiously. "Do you want me to count all ridiculous things the two of them did in the past few years?"

"Yeah, you're the right person to call anybody on their shit, right?"

"We're not talking about me, but two members of the team who are, maybe, in some sort of trouble. And we are on the other side of the country. Search the flights, Hardison."

"Nope," he lowered both windows with the airport searches and put the Portland weather report on screen. "There's no way you can fly in this condition, look at yourself – you'll be half dead when we land."

"Bullshit. We have to be near if we want to do something, not here."

"We need more info before we make any decision. Be patient."

"Who is gonna call whom?" Parker asked. She played with one still wet whip of her hair, and she was close to starting to chew on it, the dangerous sign of anxiety levels going up. This was still yellow alert, Hardison decided looking at them both. He needed to calm the situation down.

"I'm hungry," he said cheerfully, hoping they were so used to his constant typing that they wouldn't ask what the hell he was typing _now_.

"We can buy something on our way to the airport," Eliot responded to his words, not to his irritating cheerfulness. Not good. The hitter rubbed his eyes, slow and almost clumsy – his usual intensity was fading fast, judging by his voice, softer and weaker version of his raspy growl.

He continued to type, not sure what to do; Eliot needed that bed as soon as possible, but there wasn't any way now to make him rest or sleep, not until they decide what to do.

What they surely needed was a lightening of the atmosphere.

"I don't think we should let you go anywhere." Hardison said casually.

"Wha-You know, you should know better than to use _let_ and _me_, in the same sentence. Nobody _lets_ me go anywhere. I've told you already that flight won't be a problem-"

"Nah, I wasn't talking about the flight, I'm worried about the Felicity effect."

This time, both of them stared at him.

"You cut your hair," he explained.

Silence. The level of annoyance went into orange alert.

"You really don't know- geez, people, everybody knows - when Felicity cut her hair, the series lost viewership: it's known as Felicity effect in movie and TV business – you should've known that, being lately so close to TV writ-"

"Hardison…"

"Anyway, think Samson. You cut your hair, and what was the next thing that happened? You got shot. Twice. You used to fight many goons with guns, at the same time, and nothing, ziltch, nada, not a scratch. Today, one old man, _a scientist_, almost killed you. I wasn't talking about letting you go to Portland… I was talking about not letting you go anywhere, not until your hair grows back."

"Ouch," Parker murmured.

Eliot stared at him. Hardison could clearly hear a very distinctive sound of his fingers snapping in Eliot's head. Slowly. One by one.

Hardison crossed his arms and held his ground, fixing a grin on his face.

The phone rang right at the moment that he seriously contemplated locking himself in the bathroom, no matter how undignified - and useless - that was.

Eliot pointed one warning finger at him, snatching his phone at the same time. His glare faded into simple frowning when he saw a caller ID.

"Yes, Sophie?"

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Worry was a gnawing little bitch. One couldn't be a grifter if she didn't have a vivid imagination, and Sophie's slow walk, that should've calmed down her fears, became a torturous path full of what ifs, and all the possible scenarios that could go wrong in Washington.

She concentrated on the simple fact that they were all alive – for now - yet even that she couldn't know for sure. She spoke only with Parker. The thief could lie to her – the thief _did_ lie to her – and whatever was happening might've been more serious than she thought.

She gave up when she thought that Parker's call was some sort of goodbye, that the rest of them were dead, and the thief was set on a suicide, revenge mission… damn drama. She made a mental note to switch to comedies with her class and dialed Eliot's number.

She did manage not to blurt Oh, you're alive! when he answered the phone. Barely.

"You know, if you're going to spend those two days in Washington fighting over whatever you're fighting about, you might as well come home, because you won't see much of the town in between all the hissing and growling," she said with a smile in her voice, listening to the every sound from the other side.

"Nothing unusual, Soph," he said softly. Then paused. "What are you doing, by the way?" That question sounded even softer, and her alarms started ringing.

"Walking. Just finished with my class – Parker didn't tell you? Is she there at all?"

"Yes, she mentioned it, she is here. Where's Nate?" Another soft question. Silence around him, somehow, sounded… breathless.

"Around. Look, Eliot, Parker sounded strange on the phone… is she okay?" she bit her lip not to finish with What the hell are you doing, morons?

"She's fine. Just stubborn. Y' know what she eats, and how unhealthy it is. Y'all eat crap, but she passed that level like years ago, she'll soon start to eat paper – not that artificial crap that goes in cereals has any more nutritive value-"

There was a strange tone in his voice, as if he was _trying_ to make it normal. She listened better, searching for the thing he tried to hide. He spoke a little slower and his accent was escaping. Tired or beaten? They didn't report any trouble with the Castelman goons, and it was this morning – he had enough time to recover. Whatever happened, it was near, and maybe it was happening as they spoke.

"How are you feeling?" she asked suddenly, jumping into his explanation.

"Annoyed?" came the quick response. "Are you listening to me at all?"

"Of course, continue," she smiled. Before his reply, he drew in one sharp breath, surprised. She hit close to home. Something was happening _with_ him, and it wasn't good. Her worry was heading for real fear. "But before that," she went on, "tell me how Castelman case went. Hardison only said it was done, nothing more. Any trouble with that?"

"Easier than we thought, though Parker had to deal with lasers," he said without thinking. So, something happened later. How did they manage to get into the trouble in just a couple of hours?

"I guess you two are now resting, having nothing to do," Eliot continued. "Any plans for the evening? Are you taking Nate to some obscure play, or will he be spared?"

She fell silent for the moment; yes, they had plans for evening, but it was before that dreadful talk. "Not sure yet… maybe. We'll see. Eliot…" she struggled for words, not wanting to express her fear clearly. "I hope you all will have a good rest before your… sightseeing tomorrow. You will take care of them… make sure they have fun?"

"Of course," his voice for the moment sounded no stronger than a whisper.

Dear Lord. She _had_ to talk to Nate.

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Parker eeped. Hardison chew on his lip, not wanting to admit he was now disturbed too – very disturbed. Sophie sounded as if she was never expecting to see them again, for god's sake. Her last words sounded _shaken_.

"Was she…" Parker started, swallowed, then went on. "She told you to take care of us, like, like…"

"Parker, stop." Eliot growled, but his glance to him was uncertain. "Don't put much into those words, and please, don't start with your theories." He slowly got up from the chair, with stiff, careful moves.

"Her voice _trembled_," Parker squeaked. "They are not together, and they are in danger, I don't - maybe someone is chasing them - Hardison, get us on a plane."

Hardison looked at Eliot, who was just standing, doing nothing, trying to control the urge to start, and at the same time trying to look calm and controlled so the two of them won't worry.

"Try to find a direct flight," Eliot said quietly. "It would be nice if we could be in Portland early in the morning, and not lose half a day with waiting on airports. And don't start with what I can and what I can't do – I'll rest on the plane."

"Right, planes are known as a perfect place to be comfortable after two bullets…" he sighed and shook his head. "Taxi is already on its way, it'll be here in ten minutes, and private jet is waiting for us in Dulles – we'll be in the air in a less than one hour," he returned their frowning. "Yes, I did it immediately, just in case, to be ready if we had to go – but I'm against it. I want you to promise you'll spend those hours laying down, not sitting. If there is something nasty going on in Portland, being there won't make any difference if you won't be able to stand up, much less to do something, okay?"

Eliot hesitated. "Okay," he finally said, the words gritted with effort. Hardison knew Eliot was just trying to get him off his back and made a mental note to press him again as soon they arrived on airport.

Parker hurried in their room to get dressed. Hardison spent that minute watching Eliot, who was deciding if he should try to walk and show him he was barely able to do one step, or just stay there where he was, not moving, as if he wanted just that. That silent struggle would be fascinating to watch if it didn't remind him of one more shock of that day – the realization that Eliot didn't follow him and Parker when they ran out of the train with the briefcase.

He lived through fucking fifteen seconds of fear, when the silence warned them both and they split up from the hug, turning to look at the train, expecting him at the door. And seeing no one.

They didn't say a word, didn't have to – two more bullets were fired while they were on the tracks, and that silence was dreadful. He clearly remembered his hesitation – and he wasn't proud of that – he didn't want to go back to the train, terrified of what they might find. But Parker flew. And he followed.

They found him in almost the same position as he was in now; standing stiff, one hand clutching the chair – the seat – keeping him upright, unable to make a step, sit, anything except stare blindly into nothing, simply staying conscious.

"Knock it off, Hardison," his words stirred him, Eliot was looking at him. "I'll be able to run tomorrow, if needed."

"Yeah, I know," he said lightly and grinned. "Let's just hope you won't have to."

Parker entered with their bag, ready to go.

She picked up the Garnier hair conditioner and put it in Eliot's bag, carefully.

Eliot rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Her phone rang and she eeped again.

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"Oh. Nate!"

"Where are you?"

"In a taxi."

"Doing what?"

"Driving."

"I meant, where, Parker?"

"In Washington… And where are you?"

"In the office."

"Doing what?"

"Things."

"Where's Sophie? Why isn't she with you? What's going on?"

"It's midnight, Parker. She's probably sleeping."

"Why are you in the office at midnight?"

"Why do you sound so hysterical?"

"I'm not. We were sightseeing, we saw a lot of Washington, and we are now driving back."

"And everything is perfectly fine, right?"

"We are perfect, we are fine, we are driving, and we're having a _great_ time."

"Nice try, Parker."

"Why are you in the office at midnight?"

"I'll call you in the morning to see if you're still perfect and fine."

"From the office? Why are you in the office at mid-"

"Good night, Parker."

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Nate confirmed reservations for Washington, first flight in the morning, three of them. Two together in the first class, and one in Business, in case sitting together was impossible for them.

He filled one bag with all electronic equipment he could find and recognize on Hardison's work desk. They all had spare clothes in the office so he didn't have to go home to pack. He put all the IDs he could find into the bag and closed it.

The night in the office won't be comfortable, but Parker's chair was the size of a sofa; that'd do.

He poured one more Jack and tried not to think about tomorrow.

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.

Sophie's bag was unusually small. She walked into the office, expecting it to be empty so early in the morning, so she could enjoy her first cup of coffee in silence. She would have enough time to figure out how to talk with a man with whom she didn't talk, didn't _want_ to talk, and how to tell him they had to go to Washington. And why.

She wasn't, in fact, surprised when she found him sitting at the table, going through screens of the latest news, with a bag beside his chair.

He raised his head to look at her; tired, nervous, with messy hair and his shirt unbuttoned, a tie hanging from his shoulder, and her heart skipped a beat. He smiled at her, as the first, instinctive reaction, but his face froze when he remembered the last day and their fight.

She would never call him charming. He was too cold and self-centered for that. But he had a power to warm up her heart with just one uncertain, twisted smile.

Sophie slowly entered and put her bag beside his, and his eyes widened.

"We, I – you…" he tried and stopped.

She said nothing, just watched him squirm.

"We, we… we can talk business. I see you already know that something-"

"No," she stopped him.

"Our flight leaves in one hour, I have together, and separate seats if you don't want to-"

"No, Nate."

He suppressed a sigh and pulled the tie from his shoulder, looking surprised at it. She elbowed the table and just watched him. It was very difficult not to show how fast her anger was ebbing away and keep cold eyes on him.

"I know I wasn't – I know I was – dammit, Sophie, what do you want me to say?! I shouldn't continue with that crap, I know, but you-"

"Wrong turn. Stop, return to the _crap_, and try a different end for the sentence."

Her voice betrayed her this time, she knew that when he smiled, when he noticed that the coldness was gone.

He slowly got up, stood by her chair and wrapped his arms around her. "I shouldn't continue with that crap," he whispered in her hair. "And the next time I start, I'll remember this day, and stop myself. You won't have to stop me again."

"Are we talking about this particular crap, or a crap in general?" she leaned back into his arms. "Because if we go on like this with the crap after the crap, it will never end."

"Small steps, Sophie."

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It happened that the first part of their journey started with one delay, one broken plane, and another coming late. Without Hardison's magic, they weren't able to get a direct flight from Portland to Washington. Though a layover in Phoenix was a short one – they had just enough time to get a cup of coffee and walk for a couple of minutes – Sophie felt that the time they were losing while waiting for a connecting flight was more important than it seemed.

At least they sat together, and she could pretend to sleep, resting on his shoulder.

She took a few magazines to divert her mind from worry, while Nate went to get coffee. Her phone rang less than a minute after he disappeared in a crowd. He called her. If he – _again_ – forgot how much sugar she put… she sighed and answered the call.

"Do me a favor and come after me – just go left for one minute, I'm under the Pepsi commercial."

"Coming." She put away the magazines, searching for familiar face amongst busy people, checking the time as she went. They had less than ten minutes.

She found him leaning with one shoulder on the giant pole with the ad – with no coffee in his hands – and watching something with intense concentration. He just nodded when she came and turned her to look in the right direction.

Directly into Hardison, Parker and Eliot, not even ten meters away from them.

She gasped and started, but he held her hand and stopped her.

"Wait," he said with a well known gleam in his eyes.

"It's not my fault, so stop nagging!" Hardison's voice was muffled with the background noise, but still audible. "How could I predict malfunction, huh? Calm down, it's just a small delay-"

"I'm not _nagging_. She is nagging, and not because of this layover, but because of snacks! Will you all shut up, finally?"

Sophie chuckled; dear Lord, how relieved she felt. But what they were doing in Phoenix?

"It's not my fault we skipped dinner. _And_ lunch. _And_ breakfast," Parker was sitting on the backrest of the plastic seat, looking sternly at the two of them standing beside her.

"Okay, I'll buy something to eat, and check with the pilot," Hardison sighed. "Try, just _try_ not to get into the trouble while – Eliot, keep her here. Parker, don't let him…anything. Make him sit finally. You're awful, awful people." Hardison made a few steps, turning once more to point a warning finger at two of them. He almost fell when a small redhead girl came running through the crowd.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy!" The child took a sharp turn to avoid Hardison, and bumped into Eliot, bouncing back.

Sophie almost laughed, but Parker's sudden jump from the chair cut off her laugh.

Eliot _swayed_.

The thief quickly put one arm around his waist, with the broad smile of a woman who is just hugging her partner, and Sophie could clearly see how much of his weight she took on herself. Hardison attracted all attention of nearby people with pulling up the wailing girl, grinning at her and making faces, until he got one chuckle in return.

"Here you go!" he picked her up. "Let's go tell those nice people to search for your mommy, okay?"

For everybody else, Parker and Eliot were just two of many who stopped and watched the incident; Hardison went with the child without any glance in their direction. It took twenty seconds before people proceeded with their business, and just then Parker – very slowly – led Eliot to her chair. They looked like a couple sitting together, nothing more. Yet, Eliot leaned in the chair, seemingly relaxed, with his legs stretched out and closed eyes as if resting, while Parker sat upright and alerted.

Sophie darted one sideway glance to Nate.

"Left leg and right shoulder," he said dryly. "Nothing broken, probably a knife or a bullet." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Sophie watched Parker who snatched the phone from Eliot's pocket and gave it to him.

"Good morning, Eliot," Nate's voice in a second went into the light, casual tone. "How's the weather in Washington?"

Sophie held her breath watching Eliot rubbing his forehead before replying; it reminded her of a very similar situation a few months before.

"Not important, Nate, just as the weather in Portland is not important. Sophie's with you?"

"Yep, she's here, watching a few idiots making a drama."

"Trouble in the brewery?"

"Nope. Trouble in Washington?" Nate pulled her with him, and they slowly approached, step by step, as he spoke.

"How should I know? I reckon it's peaceful. What do you want? Can you just stay – with Sophie – in the brewery, doing nothing?"

"I would, gladly, but it's not possible right now. You know, something happened, we had to leave it."

Parker was turned to them and her eyes widen when she saw them, but Eliot's head was bowed; he was pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly thinking how not to explode at Nate's words.

"By the way, how's your leg and shoulder, Eliot?"Nate continued before the hitter came up with an articulate reply, and Sophie watched his hand freeze and his body go into high alert without any visible move. The next second he raised his head and looked directly at them, perplexed.

"You're in Phoenix," Parker stated evenly. "_Why_ are you in Phoenix?"

"Just a short pause on our way to Washington." Nate put the phone in his pocket. "You were so convincing in repeating how perfect, good, fine, safe, excellent, great the sightseeing was, so we had to see it by ourselves."

"You're in Phoenix," Eliot repeated as if Parker didn't say anything. "Who the hell is watering George?!"

"_That_'s your question?"Nate smirked. "You have serious issues with that plant, Eliot – we left the town just a few hours ago, so stop, he'll survive. No, better, can somebody explain to me what the hell have you done?"

"You first," Eliot growled.

"We've done nothing. Except spending one night worrying.

"Exactly the same here."

"Dead pigs were _before_ you started to call us and frighten us," Parker explained. Sophie remember to talk to her later about the definition of 'explaining', but for now she was too happy even to sigh at the thief's words.

"_We_ started to call you?

"Uhm, guys…." Hardison cleared his throat behind them. He returned with _two_ little redhead girls, identical. His eyes were wide and frantic. "Nice to see you and all that shit – we'll explain everything, don't worry, all dead- pigs-saving-the-world-Felicity effect- ticking bombs - crap, and trust me, there were hundreds of those damn pigs just laying dead - just not _now_. We have a situation here."

They all stared at him.

Eliot buried his face into his hand, again. "You were supposed to _leave_ the kid somewhere, not bring another one!" he growled. The girls started wailing in duet.

Hardison pushed them into her hands. "You two, look parental. And smile." He turned to Eliot and poked him into the good shoulder. "You, eyes up! Stop growling, you're scaring them… I said, look at me," he waited until the hitter shot him one mad glare, then smiled. "As soon as we finish with this, we'll be free. Maybe we'll have enough time to visit Boston."

Sophie just raised her eyebrows, watching the completely involuntary smile that erased Eliot's scowl for the second. He became aware of it almost instantly, and Hardison barely had enough time to jump back when he got up, radiating the killing intent from every pore. She hid the happy smile and made a mental note to corner him later.

"Good, good, now we're all upright, and we'll all stay upright as long we're raging," Hardison continued in a fast pace unusual even for him. "Let's keep it that way, and slowly, totally unsuspiciously, move towards the exit. Everybody smile. Go, go!"

Nate sighed. "Hardison, what the hell-"

"No time for explaining, we have clients, just move already! Parker, Eliot, lead the way, and _smile!_"

Sophie looked at two girls clutching at them, scared and silent, then looked at Nate.

He nodded Parker to move, shaking his head, and they all – very unsuspiciously – stepped into the warm Arizona sun, smiling all the way as ordered.

Situation Normal, All Fucked Up.

But she held Nate's hand, and the three of them were here, too, safe and mostly well.

Her world was in order again.

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THE END


End file.
